


Tadaima

by EternalAgape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (A Christmas present), And by that I mean Viktor’s ready for marriage in 2 days, And neither of them see anything wrong with that, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, M/M, They fall in love like it’s a Disney movie, They’re just Meant To Be okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalAgape/pseuds/EternalAgape
Summary: A chance meeting before the Rostelecom Cup has Viktor and Yuuri falling in love and Yuri latching on to a new friend.  Just as their relationship begins to grow, Yuuri overhears something terrible – can they make it though the rough patch before the Grand Prix Final?Or: Yuuri is in the right place at the right time followed quickly by being in the wrong place at the wrong time (or maybe just jumping to the wrong conclusions).
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137





	1. Tadaima

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise – Merry Christmas, Moon!  
> Things included: A meet cute where Makka gets lost and Yuuri is the one who find him; Yurio and Yuuri friendship; Misunderstanding; Happy ending; Yuuri going from I want to be like Viktor to I'm going to surpass him; Makka; Mutual pining (a little bit); Angst followed by dramatic confession/accidental confession; Non-sexual intimacy like holding hand, sitting in the other’s lap, cold nose in the neck; Casual food sharing; Viktor in a suit

Yuuri couldn’t believe that he was competing in _Russia_ of all places (and he might earn the chance to compete in Russia _again_ next month?!).

Well, he couldn’t really get his hopes up – qualifying for the Grand Prix Final would be nearly impossible with the group of skaters he would be facing at the Rostelecom Cup. The gold was _actually_ impossible: Viktor Nikiforov would be skating against him, after all. Then there was Georgi, who always scored well in Russia…

Making the podium would be nearly impossible, and if Yuuri didn’t podium, he could kiss his ticket to the Grand Prix Final goodbye.

He tried not to think about it. He _needed_ to not think about it or else his anxiety would spiral out of control, and he’d be lucky to land doubles in practice the next day. What he needed was to get out of the sterile hotel room and _do_ something with himself. The weather was clear, so he decided that a walk through the town was exactly what he needed to distract himself from his Final-or-Not situation.

Saint Petersburg was pretty, if entirely too frigid for Yuuri’s liking. The city seemed to be gearing up for the holidays, and Yuuri thought that one section looked like it was being set up for a craft market. _How he would love to come back in a month to see something like that!_...but first, he’d need to do well in the competition, which was exactly what he was trying _not_ to think about.

With a sigh, Yuuri shook his head as if he could shake his hopes and fears right out of his ears. He could do this tomorrow; he could skate well…if only he could stop _thinking_ about it!

For a moment, he thought about how he would handle the situation if he were home in Japan. He would go find Vicchan and maybe take him for a walk or cuddle with him or-

Wait… _Vicchan_?

But no – despite looking familiar, the poodle walking down the street toward him was _much_ too large to be Vicchan; it was definitely a standard poodle, and this dog was in _Russia_ for goodness’ sake!

Yuuri stopped in his tracks, watching as the poodle sniffed the air and nosed at the shop doors. The dog was definitely curious – and definitely _not_ being watched, Yuuri realized as he saw that nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the poodle as it idled up to a food vendor. There was no leash, no owner standing nearby…

What was the dog _doing_ by itself? It could get lost or hurt or…or _anything_!

Yuuri whistled, successfully catching the poodle’s attention. It barreled down the street, nearly knocking Yuuri over when it jumped up, putting its large paws on Yuuri’s chest. If he didn’t have such good leg strength, Yuuri was certain he would be flat on his back against the cobblestones already.

Instead, Yuuri just laughed, rubbing his hands through the poodle’s soft brown curls. “Hello there, precious! What are you doing out here by yourself? Who do you belong to?” The dog _boofed_ softly, sounding happy and content to have someone talking to it.

The poodle’s collar had a tag and a charm on it – a charm shaped like a figure skate, which only served to strengthen the part of Yuuri’s brain that said this poodle was _so familiar_. Shaking the feeling off, Yuuri looked at the tag, finding that it was double sided in Russian and English ( _thank goodness!_ ). 

_Hi! Nice to meet you!_

_I’m probably out for a walk I’m not supposed to be on._

_If found, please call +7 (888) 567-89-00._

_My dad misses me!_

Yuuri chuckled at the last line, giving the poodle a pat on its head. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll call your dad for you, okay?”

The poodle _boofed_ again, and if Yuuri understood dog, he was sure it would have been a very enthusiastic “Yes, please!”.

Yuuri pulled his phone out of his pocket with one hand while keeping the other on the poodle’s collar so it couldn’t stray any farther. He quickly dialed the number, waiting as it rang and rang until-

“’allo?”

“Uh, hi,” Yuuri said nervously.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then finally a response. “Hello. May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Yuuri. Uh, have you lost a dog?”

“Have I lost a- _Makkachin_!”

And Yuuri nearly dropped his phone. He _knew_ that name, and he _knew_ the voice on the other side of the phone. He had heard hundreds of interviews with that charming Russian accent before, and that was _exactly_ why _Makkachin_ had looked so familiar to him.

“V- _Viktor_?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “…Yes? Do I know you? Oh! And my Makka, is he okay?”

“I, uh, no. I’m a fan,” Yuuri said hesitantly. _A fan is a bit of an understatement; more like a stalker_ , he reminded himself. “And Makkachin is fine! He’s great!” Yuuri was quick to assure him. “I’ve got him. I’m holding onto his collar, although he doesn’t seem in much of a hurry to go anywhere now.”

Viktor breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank _goodness_. Yuuri, did you say? Yuuri, thank you! Where are you right now?”

“Um…” Yuuri looked around, trying to spot any kind of landmark or words on a sign he could actually read. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. I’m near the rink for the Rostelecom Cup? And…I’m next to a bakery, and I can see the rink from here.”

“What side of the street are you on? Same side as the rink or across from it?”

“The same side.”

“Great.” Yuuri could hear the jingle of keys through the phone. “I’m on my way! I’ll find you. I should be there in five minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Yuuri agreed, nudging Makkachin over to a bench and sitting down, placing him firmly between his knees and holding tightly to Makkachin’s collar. “We’ll wait here.”

“ _Thank you_ , Yuuri.” Viktor sounded so relieved. Yuuri could understand – he’d be in a panic if Vicchan were missing, too. “I’ll be right there!”

Yuuri was content to wait with Makkachin. He had missed Vicchan greatly – god, had it really been…three years? maybe four? since he had been home?

Yuuri mindlessly carded his fingers through Makkachin’s curls, thinking how similar they felt to Vicchan’s. Both soft, almost like a teddy bear’s fur, except they were pleasantly warm and-

Makkachin rested his chin on Yuuri’s knee, tilting his head slightly as if to ask what Yuuri was thinking about.

“I have a dog like you, only smaller,” Yuuri explained, scratching Makkachin behind the ear and watching his eyes close in contentment. “I miss him a lot. I…I actually got him when I saw Viktor with you. I wanted to be like Viktor, and I thought it would be so nice to have a friend like you…a friendly companion. I used to come home from school…and of course, I’d yell that I was home so my mother could hear, but Vicchan would always hear me and come running. ‘Tadaima.’ Eventually, Vicchan stopped responding to normal commands like ‘Here, Vicchan!’ or ‘Come!’ and he only responded to that. Tadaima. But…I haven’t been able to say that for years now. Not really. I haven’t been home in years.”

Makkachin’s blinked one eye up at Yuuri, the other closed as Yuuri continued to scratch his head.

“Yeah, I know. It’s probably silly, but…tadaima. I’d love to be able to say that again – _really_ say it.”

“Tadaima? What does that mean?”

Makkachin perked up, standing and pushing Yuuri’s knees apart to greet his owner.

“Makkachin!” Viktor exclaimed, kneeling on the cold ground with his arms wide open. Yuuri released Makkachin’s collar, and the poodle bounded over to him. “What did you think you were doing, getting into trouble again? No! _Net_! Bad Makka!” Yuuri smiled, trying to hide his chuckles. For all Viktor’s scolding words, there was really no heat behind them. Who could really get mad at _Makkachin_ , after all?

Yuuri stood from the bench, walking the few steps that separated him from the biggest inspiration of his life and-

_Oh my god it’s Viktor Nikiforov!_

It finally hit him.

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri stuttered. His mind was only able to process one singular fact: Viktor Nikiforov is _here_. Sure, he knew that he would likely bump into him in the next few days as competition began, but…that was at a rink. Viktor Nikiforov was _supposed_ to be at a rink. Viktor Nikiforov was _not_ supposed to be sitting in front of him, letting his beautiful poodle slobber all over his beautiful face because Yuuri found his dog wandering the street.

“You must be Yuuri!” Viktor said once he finally clipped a leash securely to Makkachin’s collar and extricated himself from Makkachin’s furry paws. “Yuuri, you saved my life! Well, I mean, you saved Makkachin, and Makkachin _is_ my life, and I’d be _so sad_ without him, so you really saved _both_ of us…oh, how can I ever repay you?” Viktor babbled, his heart-shaped grin never easing up for even the slightest of seconds.

“Uh, it’s okay! Really! No problem!” Yuuri assured him as coherently as he could – really, _Viktor Nikiforov_ was standing in front of him, thanking him for _holding onto his poodle for five minutes_ like he had hung the stars in the sky.

“No, no! I must thank you!” Viktor put a hand to his chin, humming in thought. “Hmm…I could take you shopping? Take you to the theater?” Yuuri blanched, protesting once more, and luckily, Viktor realized those were not such great ideas (it’s a good thing, too, because Viktor was about to offer Yuuri first class plane tickets to anywhere in the world or a new car). “I could take you out for food?”

Food. Yuuri could do food. “I…sure, Viktor. That sounds reasonable.”

Viktor grinned. “Wonderful! I know a lovely little café that has fantastic food. It’s just a bit past the rink – do you mind a walk?”

“Not at all!” Yuuri said. “I was out for a walk anyway when I found Makkachin.”

Viktor nodded furiously. “And I’m so glad you did! Come, this way,” Viktor replied, leading Yuuri towards the rink. They walked along the river that divided the street, Makkachin trotting along happily in front of them and stopping to sniff every person who passed.

“So, how did Makkachin manage to get out?” Yuuri asked curiously.

“Well, he was being watched by a friend, and sometimes he just gets so excited over – well, just about _anything_ , really – that he finds his way out. It hasn’t happened in a few months, but…”

“Good thing you put your number on his collar!” Yuuri said with a laugh, Viktor’s chuckle quickly joining his.

“Indeed, it is.” Makkachin tugged on his leash, nearly slipping out of Viktor’s grasp just to go chase a pigeon. It was easy for Yuuri to see how he could have managed his Houdini-worthy routine. “Now, Yuuri, you said you were a fan?” Viktor said.

_A fan._ Yeah, sure, just a _fan_. “Uh, yes, a very big fan,” Yuuri stated. _How does one tell the best skater in the world that, oh, by the way, I’ll be competing against you this week?_

“I’m so flattered! And so happy that Makkachin was found by someone so kind. Have you been following figure skating long?”

“Uh, a dozen years or so,” Yuuri answered, but that might have been the understatement of the century. He hadn’t just been _following_ skating, after all: he had been training, pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into a sport that gave so little back just for the miniscule chance that he might someday stand on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov – and while he had been expecting to finally find Viktor on the ice, he had found him through his poodle instead.

“My, so long! Skating is really something special, isn’t it?” Viktor mused.

“That it is,” Yuuri agreed wholeheartedly. _After all_ , Yuuri wanted to say, _it brought me here._

“I hope you don’t mind if a friend joins us?” Viktor asked. “I promised him I would take him out after practice, but I can always call him and-”

Yuuri felt his heart drop. Viktor had a _date_ today. “No! No, that’s fine,” Yuuri hurriedly assured him. (Even if it did feel like he was intruding on their date.) “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather that I just go back to my-”

“Please, Yuuri; it’s my treat. It’s the least I can do for saving my wonderful Makka!”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at Viktor’s enthusiasm, and Makkachin’s puppy eyes were also highly convincing. The only answer he could give was “yes,” which was how he found himself sitting inside an adorable café that Viktor had somehow bribed to let Makkachin join them as well. It was heavenly warm inside, for which Yuuri was grateful. Even though they hadn’t been walking for long, Yuuri felt chilled to the bone and was desperate to be able to feel his fingers again.

They ordered drinks, Viktor ordering two coffees for him and his ~~date~~ friend, a bowl of water for Makkachin, and a tea for Yuuri. Viktor then directed Yuuri to the menu.

“What would you like, Yuuri? Cake? Sandwich? Cookies? Anything and everything you want – my treat!” Viktor told him.

Yuuri stared dumbly at the menu for a moment, trying to decipher any of the text. “Um, I- Viktor, this is in Russian,” Yuuri said.

“Yes!” Viktor responded happily, clearly not understanding the issue. “If there’s not something you like, we can go somewhere else…”

Yuuri shook his head. “This is fine, Viktor. It’s just…I can’t _read_ Russian.”

“You can’t re…oh. _Oh_! Yuuri, I’m so sorry! I’m a terrible host. If you tell me what you would like, I can find it for you – or I can translate the menu! Let’s see, here we have a double chocolate-”

_Chocolate_. Just the word had Yuuri’s mouth watering, but he couldn’t. He needed to keep to his meal plan with the competition season in full gear, especially since he had practice tomorrow and the short program in two days. “Uh…what have they got for salads? Things with some protein, maybe?”

Viktor looked a little disappointed for a fraction of a second, but he quickly set to translating options that were a bit more fit for an elite athlete. Yuuri eventually settled on a seasonal salad just as the door to the café opened again, letting in a cold breeze with the newest customer.

Viktor waved to the person, and Yuuri realized that this must be who they were waiting for. It was obvious the second Yuuri saw Viktor’s friend that this had _not_ been a date he was intruding on after all: first, Yuuri recognized the boy who entered as one of Viktor’s rink mates who competed on the Junior level, and second, the boy couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen.

“Couldn’t wait for me, could you, old man? I was _five minutes behind you_!” the boy grumbled loudly, his voice clearly heard throughout the café.

“Sorry, Yuri. My dear Makka got out again – such a smart dog he is! I had to go get him, and Yuuri here saved him!” Viktor explained, gesturing to the older Yuuri. “Oh, Yuri and Yuuri! That could be…confusing. Hmm…” Viktor mumbled thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll just have to give you a nickname. Yuri, you can be Yurio since you’re littler.”

“What?!” Yuri squawked. “No. _No_. I’m not getting some _nickname_ just because you found another Yuuri.” Yuri finally took a good look at Viktor’s companion, squinting his eyes as he stared at Yuuri’s face. “Huh. Okay, fine. So, how’d you come across this loser?” Yuri asked as he sat down next to Viktor at the table.

“What? That’s so rude, Yurio!” Viktor scolded. “Yuuri’s not a _loser_ , he’s-”

“I wasn’t talking to _you_ , idiot,” Yurio huffed. “I was talking to _Katsuki_ here. So, Katsuki, how’d you get stuck with him?”

“K-Katsuki?” Yuuri stuttered. He had gotten too far without telling Viktor that he was a skater, and it had just been too awkward to suddenly bring up, and now…

“Are _you_ the idiot, then? Don’t even know your own name?”

“No, no, it’s just- I didn’t think-” Yuuri stammered.

“They stream Japanese Nationals online, you know,” Yuri informed him, “even in Russia.”

Viktor perked up, leaning his elbows onto the table. “What kind of nationals?” he asked intently.

“What? You’re telling me you _don’t_ know Yuuri Katsuki?” Yuri asked incredulously.

“Of course I do! He saved Makka, so he’s my best friend now, obviously,” Viktor said as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world.

Yuri stared at him for a moment, waiting for Viktor to keep talking…but no, that was it. Viktor had nothing more to add. “You mean you _don’t_ know that Yuuri Katsuki is Japan’s figure skating champion, and he’ll be competing against you in this week’s Grand Prix?”

Yuuri swore Viktor’s eyes physically bulged out of his skull. “ _What_?” Viktor breathed.

“You don’t keep up with anyone but yourself, do you?” Yuri shook his head in disgust. “Dumbass,” he muttered under his breath.

Yuuri sat quietly as he watched Viktor’s mouth open, close, open again, and repeat for nearly thirty seconds. Eventually, the silence was too much, and Yuuri finally said, “Um…so you’re Yurio- I mean, Yuri Plisetsky? I’ve been watching your programs this season, and they’re pretty incredible.”

Yuri almost seemed to preen. “Thanks, Katsuki. Yours are…not bad. They could be better, but they work.” Viktor sounded like he was choking on air, but Yuri ignored him. “So, you going to try to challenge the old man here for a medal?”

“That’s…I mean, I can’t really _beat_ him, but I’ll certainly be doing my best this weekend,” Yuuri said anxiously, his eyes darting back between Viktor, mouth still gaping like a fish, and Yuri, who was reclined in his chair with a foot up on the empty seat at their table.

“You’re a _skater_?” Viktor finally asked.

“’Course he is,” Yuri answered for him. “A damn good one who could be one of the best if he just _didn’t fall_ for once,” he finished bitterly. (Yuuri found the last part a little harsh – just because it was true didn’t mean Yuri needed to rub it in!)

“You’re competing _this weekend_ …with me?” Viktor asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, and I’ll be rooting for him and not you, old man,” Yuri said sharply.

Yuuri was saved from having to explain anything further by the arrival of their food. He discovered that Viktor had apparently ordered something extra that Yuuri hadn’t been aware of: a delicious looking chocolate tart, which he set off to the side while he ravenously dug into his own salad.

Yuuri stared for a moment, briefly considering how bitterly unfair it was that the universe allowed Viktor to look Like That while still giving him the opportunity to have dessert.

“So, Yuuri,” Viktor said once they had eaten their meals, “you’ll be competing with me?”

Yuuri swallowed hard, his palms suddenly feeling uncomfortably sweaty. “Yeah.”

“Is this your first Grand Prix assignment?” Viktor asked.

It was then that Yuuri realized Viktor really _didn’t_ pay attention to the other skaters. Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to feel offended that Viktor didn’t respect his competitors in that way or to wonder how Viktor could live in such a secluded bubble.

“No, I competed once already this season,” Yuuri said.

Yuri felt the need to scoff before firmly adding, “He competed once and already won a silver medal. He’s got a good chance of making the Final, too.”

And at that moment, Yuuri remembered what he was trying to forget: _that_. He didn’t want to stress about his scores or needing to make the Final or-

“Oh! I would love to skate with you at the Final. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully this week, Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed with a grin.

Maybe it was that grin or Yuuri’s stores of willpower slowly being depleted, but either way, he was suddenly feeling very much like a young man on a date, not a skater sitting in front of his idol.

Without thinking about it, Yuuri did exactly what he would have done if he were on a normal young man’s date: he reached his fork across the table to Viktor’s unattended plate of chocolate tart, stealing a bite before Viktor could stop him.

Yuuri couldn’t prevent a quiet moan from escaping his mouth as he tasted the decadent chocolate. He was too lost in happiness – both from the food and from Viktor himself – to notice Yuri making a choking sound vaguely resembling that of a strangled cat. He _wasn’t_ too lost in the tart to notice Viktor’s lopsided grin and reddening cheeks.

“Oh, Yuuri! I could have ordered you some dessert, too!”

Then reality came crashing back to Yuuri: he wasn’t on a date; he was on a thank-you outing for finding Viktor’s dog, and to make matters worse, there was a teenage boy with them. He really shouldn’t be eating chocolate tart, and he _really_ shouldn’t be considering how Viktor’s mouth would taste glazed with dark chocolate.

“Ugh, _disgusting_ ,” Yuuri could have sworn he heard the younger Yuri grumble as Yuuri protested to Viktor that, “No, really, one bite is enough! Sorry for stealing your food!”

Conversation moved to safer topics after that – _thankfully_! – and before Yuuri knew it, their plates were being cleared, and the sky was beginning to darken.

Without asking, Yuri snatched Yuuri’s phone from the table. “Hey!” Yuuri protested, but he fell silent when he caught sight of the glare the younger boy was sending him.

“What’s your damn passcode, Katsuki?”

Rather than answering (because Yuuri wasn’t about to tell _anyone_ that his passcode was the month and day Viktor had won his first World Championship), Yuuri reached across the table to press his thumb on the screen, unlocking it for Yuri against his better judgement.

The younger Yuri’s fingers flew across the screen, tapping and swiping until he finally nodded, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had just done. ( _Oh no what did he do?_ )

When Yuuri’s phone was returned, though, the only difference he could find was the presence of a new chat conversation and an additional contact: The Better Yuri, it read, and there was just a “Hi” sent from Yuuri’s phone to Yurio’s.

“I don’t like people who don’t text me,” Yuri grumbled, which was probably as much of an invitation for Yuuri to keep in contact with the younger boy as he was ever going to get. Yuri didn’t say anything further; he stood sharply from the table, bumping his chair and causing it to teeter precariously before it finally settled onto the floor again. “I’ll be at practice tomorrow,” he told them both, then turned and left the café.

Yuuri noticed that Viktor had been left with Yuri’s bill as well, and he mentioned as much.

Viktor chuckled. “It’s fine. I offered to take you both out, and it’s not as if I don’t have the money to spend on things that make me happy.”

_Things that made him happy. Did that include_ me _?_ Yuuri wondered.

Once Viktor had paid (despite Yuuri’s protests that, _really, I was happy to find Makka for you! You don’t have to buy me food!_ ), they left the café, returning to the bitter cold that Yuuri had been happy to forget about.

If Makkachin’s behavior was any indication, he didn’t like it much, either, and he took to trotting between both of their legs, the sides of his body brushing against Viktor and Yuuri.

“So,” Viktor began, trying to break the silence between them that was slowly growing to be too awkward, “you said a funny word earlier today when you were talking to Makkachin? Something, uh…all I can think of is ‘ta-da?’”

Yuuri wracked his brain, trying to remember what word he had said to Makkachin that sounded even vaguely like he was doing a magic trick. Finally, it hit him. “Tadaima?”

“Yes! Yes, that was it. What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese,” Yuuri explained. “It means ‘I’m home.’ That’s what my dog answers to as a command to come to me.”

“Aww!” Viktor cooed. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah, back in Japan. But…it’s been much too long since I’ve seen him,” Yuuri said, feeling guilty.

“Tell me about him!”

Yuuri smiled faintly, thinking about Vicchan’s little paws and his soft curls – just like Makkachin’s but in miniature. “He’s a poodle,” Yuuri began.

“A poodle!” Viktor exclaimed. “Oh, Yuuri, you’ve won me over already. What’s his name?”

“It’s Vik- uh, ahem, Vicchan,” Yuuri quickly covered with a cough.

“ _Vicchan_!” Viktor squealed (and Yuuri brain quickly went into overdrive with the concept of _Oh my god Viktor Nikiforov is squealing over my dog_ ). “How _sweet_! Is that a Japanese name?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered, relieved to have an easy response to that question, and one that was true. Viktor just didn’t need to know that Vicchan was a Japanese nickname for _Viktor_.

“That’s so adorable! I wish I could meet your little Vicchan,” Viktor said wistfully.

“Maybe someday,” Yuuri said more to be polite than an actual promise – although if the skating gods smiled upon him and Viktor wanted to ever visit Hasetsu, he would certainly be _more_ than welcome.

Before Yuuri knew it, they had arrived back to the front of his hotel. He smiled at Viktor, saying a quick goodnight before he turned towards the glass doors of the lobby.

A gentle hand on his arm stopped him, causing Yuuri to turn back to see Viktor’s nervous face.

“Yuuri…I’m so sorry.”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed, his eyes pinching together in confusion and causing his glasses to shift. “What for?”

“For…god, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t know you were a skater, and I really should have. I should be paying more attention to who I compete against! You all deserve at the _very least_ that much respect. And even without that, I still should have known by…” Viktor very quickly stopped talking, looking away as his cheeks turned a suspicious shade of rosy pink.

“Should have known by…?” Yuuri prompted.

Viktor seemed hesitant, still refusing to meet Yuuri’s gaze. “I, uh…I don’t know if I should say this.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Viktor,” Yuuri encouraged him.

Whatever it was, Yuuri couldn’t quite hear. Viktor mumbled his words, and Yuuri couldn’t even read his lips since Viktor was talking to a very nice shrub off to the side.

“I’m sorry, Viktor. I didn’t quite catch that?”

Sighing, Viktor looked up at Yuuri, his cheeks as flaming red as any Carmen costume. “I said that you’ve got a skater’s thighs. And, uh, the most glorious butt I’ve ever seen. I…might have been a bit distracted by them.”

Yuuri wasn’t consciously sure how to respond to that. His subconscious took care of that for him, though, causing him to let out a very embarrassing “ _Eep!”_ and turning his cheeks a darker red than Viktor’s.

“So…maybe I shouldn’t have told you that…” Viktor said. Yuuri blushed further if that were even possible, fighting the urge to cover his face with his hands. “Or…maybe you don’t…mind?”

Yuuri ducked his head, staring at Makkachin rather than the poodle’s owner. “I, uh, no. I’m just…very flattered.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, his cheeks slowly returning to their normal color. “And if I said that I liked your butt _very_ much…and the rest of you, too?”

“Then I just might die,” Yuuri whispered.

“What was that?”

“Then I might just _try_ ,” he quickly corrected, “to say the same because…I think you’re- your b- oh, _you know what I mean_!” he growled in frustration.

Viktor’s lips twitched, finally turning into the beautiful heart-shaped grin that had been charming Yuuri since he the first time he saw Viktor on television over a decade ago.

And then, Viktor _laughed_.

God, it was such a beautiful sound. Yuuri wondered how a human could make a sound like that, something so celestial that even the lightest of church bells couldn’t compare.

As his laughter faded, Yuuri could see Viktor grow nervous again. “Yuuri…would you mind if I took you out again after tomorrow morning’s practice?” Viktor asked hesitantly.

Viktor really had no reason to worry – Yuuri grinned, his cheeks flushing with delight. “That sounds wonderful, Viktor.”

Viktor’s brilliant smile returned, and he quickly lifted Yuuri’s hand to kiss the back of his knuckles. “Well, my darling Yuuri, I’ll see you tomorrow at practice – and then afterwards.”

It was a struggle for Yuuri to manage any words, but he somehow produced a coherent, “Alright,” as his body thrummed with happiness. The back of his hand felt warm as he watched Viktor walk away, Makkachin trotting by his side, and he wondered how it was even humanly possible to _feel_ something like this.

The feeling didn’t go away that evening, which made it very difficult for Yuuri to fall asleep – but once he did, his dreams were full of blue eyes and poodles and riverside walks.

[Tadaima]

Practice went smoothly the following day – that is, if you didn’t count Yuuri’s distractedness since Viktor had arrived early to watch him skate. At first, Celestino couldn’t figure out what had Yuuri simultaneously vibrating with anxiety and looking flushed; then, Yuuri happened to stare at Viktor for just a moment too long, and it became obvious.

Celestino cleared his throat, getting Yuuri’s attention during a water break. “Yuuri, I’m not sure what’s going on here with you and Viktor Nikiforov, but just remember that you need to _focus_ , alright?”

“Yes, Coach!” Yuuri agreed, and he tried to keep his eyes moving through the crowd for the rest of the practice session. (It wasn’t his fault that Viktor just naturally drew people to him!)

Once Yuuri’s practice finally ended, Celestino gave him strict orders not to overdo it that day with sightseeing and to make sure to be on time for his second practice later in the day.

Yuuri assured him that “I won’t and I will, Coach!” then started off with the easiest thing he could do for his body: sitting rinkside watching Viktor’s practice (it wasn’t necessarily the easiest on his mind, though, because Yuuri nearly had a heart attack every time Viktor fell, and his heart nearly burst out of his chest when Viktor finished his full run-through looking directly at Yuuri).

As soon as the second practice was finished, Viktor brushed his coach off ( _how does someone brush off_ Yakov _?_ Yuuri wanted to know) and whisked Yuuri away for an early lunch together. Their afternoon was spent tucked away in the back corner of a small restaurant, far away from the prying eyes of the fans who had descended on Saint Petersburg for tomorrow’s competition. 

Their conversation was interspersed with comfortable silences and endless refills of hot coffee, and before they knew it, they had to go back to the rink for their second practices. They had taken a cab to the restaurant, tired from their earlier practice, but Viktor insisted that they walk back. “It’s not too far,” he had assured Yuuri, but the issue was less of the distance and more of the temperature outside.

Halfway there, Yuuri was frigid, and Viktor finally took pity on him. He pulled off one of Yuuri’s gloves, briefly exposing Yuuri’s frozen fingers to the cold air, before tucking Yuuri’s hand into Viktor’s mitten and covering it with own.

Viktor’s hand was warm, and it reminded Yuuri of the sun on a bright summer day. It was a welcome feeling in the cold Saint Petersburg streets, like his own personal furnace that could melt all his anxieties away.

And just as Yuuri was thinking how _lovely and warm_ Viktor was, Viktor decided that _he_ was cold, too. Yuuri yelped as he felt the press of Viktor’s frozen nose into his neck. “What are you doing _that_ for?”

“But Yuuri,” Viktor said, “I’m cold! And you’re so _warm_!”

Yuuri blanched. “You’ve lived in Saint Petersburg your whole life! Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?”

“But _Yuuri_ …” And it was the whining that did it: Yuuri couldn’t tell Viktor no when he was nuzzled into Yuuri’s neck, one arm tight around Yuuri’s waist, the ends of Viktor’s silver hair tickling Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri giggled at the sensation, causing Viktor to press himself tighter against Yuuri’s bare skin.

“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri murmured, no longer protesting. This felt…well, _incredible_ , to put it simply. It was something beyond his wildest dreams, and it couldn’t get any better.

“Yuuri,” Viktor mumbled against Yuuri’s skin. He could feel every shift of Viktor’s lips, the gentlest brush of smooth skin against the goosebumps of his frozen neck. “Yuuri, may I kiss you?”

Yuuri froze. (What do you _mean_ he was already frozen? Well, he was _more frozen_ now.) “Wha- what was that, Viktor?” he finally stammered, sure that he must have heard Viktor wrong.

Viktor pulled away, and Yuuri almost regretted asking if it meant he couldn’t feel Viktor so close to him anymore. But when Viktor said, “Yuuri, may I please kiss you?” Yuuri decided that it had been worth it.

Especially when those smooth lips were against his, Viktor’s warmth meeting his chapped skin, and Yuuri decided that things before might have been _wonderful_ , maybe even _incredible_ , but now they were _indescribable._

Hours later, having eventually managed to return to the rink and with a great second practice and a quick dinner behind him, Yuuri was still smiling. It wasn’t the confidence of a good practice that had him feeling so content, though. No; Yuuri floated off to sleep with the memory of their kiss still tingling on his lips.

[Tadaima]

He awoke to the sound of his alarm, its shrill beeping tearing him from a wonderful dream of Viktor Nikiforov _kissing_ him, gosh how perfectly impossible-

But then he checked his notifications and discovered a text from Viktor Nikiforov (how had he even gotten Yuuri’s number?), which said:

**_Good morning, Yuuri! I had a wonderful time with you last night. Who knew that in addition to your great thighs and glorious butt, you are also an incredible kisser? Let’s do it again sometime!...maybe later today?_ **

And if Yuuri had thought he went to sleep floating, then he was simply _soaring_ as he prepared for the competition that day.

Yuuri was in the first group, while Viktor had drawn to go in the second group. He would be the very last skater, which seemed fitting to Yuuri – saving the best for last, as people said.

Yuuri watched as the first few skaters went, and then all too soon the third skater was in the middle of his program, and Yuuri would need to perform next. He tried to psyche himself up without going overboard – he could _do this_ ; he had practiced this dozens, maybe even _hundreds_ , of times. It was just skating.

But “just skating” turned very quickly into “just falling,” his opening quadruple toeloop not getting the height it needed. Yuuri came down mid-rotation, his foot completely forward on the landing and, not being able to stop the rotation quickly enough, he skidded on the ice and fell hard onto his hip.

The second jump wasn’t much better, but at least he didn’t fall. His triple axel was popped into just a double, and he had to step out on the landing to keep from falling again.

Somehow – maybe it was sheer force of will or the knowledge that Viktor was somewhere in the arena watching him – Yuuri managed to pull himself together for the rest of the program, successfully landing his jump combination and finishing the second half cleanly.

Celestino was waiting for him as he stepped off the ice, handing Yuuri his skate guards as he wrapped an arm comfortingly around his shoulders. “It’s alright, Yuuri. You still have the free skate tomorrow – and even with those mistakes, you performed the rest of the program beautifully! It was only the first two elements.”

Yuuri appreciated how hard Celestino was trying to cheer him up, but it wasn’t really helping. Sure, it was only two elements, but it was two of his highest scoring elements. Hell, his quad toe was worth nearly as much as his combination! And all those points, gone…or nearly gone, at least.

“…we’ll work on the jumps in practice tomorrow, but I don’t want you to push too hard,” Celestino was saying as they walked to the Kiss and Cry, but Yuuri wasn’t really listening.

Feeling defeated, Yuuri watched as his name was added to the rankings with a score he hadn’t seen since his junior days, sliding into second with two more skaters left in this group and the second group still to go. He had royally screwed up. Any chance of podiuming and going to the final…gone.

Viktor, who had been warming up and watching Yuuri’s skate from a screen in a practice area, met Yuuri with a tight hug as soon as he was through the curtains.

“It’s alright, darling. It was just jumps – your choreography? Your footwork? Absolutely _flawless_.”

Yuuri tucked his face into Viktor’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes tightly so that he wouldn’t cry all over Viktor’s national team jacket. He had already felt like crying before, but then Viktor called him _darling_. _And it was the Olympic jacket, too!_ Yuuri’s brain helpfully added, which only stressed Yuuri out more. _He couldn’t ruin Viktor’s Olympic jacket!_

“I’ve got to go warm up, but Yuuri, it’s just one skate. _One skate_. You can’t change it; it’s already over. What you can do is focus on tomorrow, alright?”

Yuuri nodded against his chest, and then felt the lightest of kisses being pressed to the top of his head. “I have faith in you, darling. I’ve got to head out there now. Okay? I’ll see you later.”

Snuffling, Yuuri stood up straight again and nodded more surely. “Okay,” he said, then pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “Thank you, Viktor. Go stun them all,” _like you stun me,_ he didn’t say.

And then Yuuri was left alone, mind on overdrive as he tried to process _I’m out of the Final_ combined with _Viktor called me darling_. It was a lot to take in, but he had a lot of time – especially when Viktor finished the day in first and needed to go to the press conference and Yuuri had to return to his hotel with Celestino.

When Yuuri’s phone rang an hour after the press conference had ended, he heard Viktor’s disappointed voice say, “Yuuri? Darling, I’m so sorry. Yakov won’t let me come out tonight.” Then, in a louder voice as if he were trying to make someone else overhear, “It must be because he’s jealous of my glorious hair, while he’s over there balding!”

Yuuri could faintly hear his coach’s exasperated response. “ _I wouldn’t be balding if you weren’t my student, Viktor Nikiforov! If I had kicked you out a decade ago, I’d have more hair!”_ Even though Yuuri was disappointed that Viktor couldn’t come over (even if he shouldn’t expect it), at least their banter served to give him a chuckle.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri assured Viktor weakly, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

“I’m really sorry, Yuuri. Yakov and his balding head are just so _stubborn_ sometimes. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, alright?”

“Alright. Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

Yuuri leaned back onto his bed, disappointed about…well, just everything in general. Not seeing Viktor again that day, the competition…

Ten minutes later, though, his phone buzzed with a text message: **_You have plans tonight?_**

Surprisingly, the text didn’t come from Viktor; it came from Yuri. Yuuri didn’t have plans, not even plans with Viktor now, which might have been a good thing. After today’s disastrous short program, he didn’t really want to do much of anything (except cry).

When he texted as much to the younger Yuri, he quickly got back a second message: **_Give me your room number. I’m coming over._**

Twenty minutes later, Yuri arrived with an assortment of light snacks and a DVD. “This is such a shitty movie. You should suffer with me,” Yuri demanded. Yuuri felt like pointing out that he was _already_ suffering, but he decided to keep quiet.

Halfway through _Ice Princess_ , though, (why did Yuri even want to watch it to begin with?), Yuuri was glad he had let his friend take charge: they were having such a blast making fun of the bad cuts in the film’s skating and pointing out the inaccuracies that Yuuri had forgotten all about the day’s earlier events.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Yuri told him as he left the hotel two hours later. “I’ll be waiting for you to show everyone how to do a _real_ quad toe.”

And somehow, despite the implied threat that Yuuri had better show a good quad toe “or else,” Yuuri went to sleep feeling much calmer and prepared for the free skate than he ever had before.

[Tadaima]

True to his word, Yuri was at both the practice in the morning and the free program in the afternoon. The practice went well (Yurio would have said _too_ well based on the number of sappy looks Viktor and Yuuri kept giving each other), and Yuuri felt comfortable going into the free skate. Yuri had offered a few tidbits of advice disguised as insults, which helped Yuuri to sharpen up his jumps. Yuuri might not be able to podium and make the Final, but his practice had left him comfortable with his jumps and confident in his ability to perform his choreography. His only goal since the Final was out was to make the crowd enjoy his skating.

When Yuuri arrived at the shared locker room to change for the free program, he found it empty, save only for Viktor. Yuuri grinned, opening his mouth to greet him, only to find that Viktor had a phone pressed tightly against his face.

Upon seeing Yuuri, Viktor’s face brightened as he mirrored Yuuri’s smile before focusing on his call again. “Hmm? Oh, it’s just Katsuki,” Viktor said, his eyes going back to his feet as he finished tying his skates. “Yeah, Yuuri. That one.” He paused, listening intently to the other person on the line, and then rolled his eyes. “Mm-hmm. I know. He’s so nosy. He doesn’t know how to keep himself reigned in. It’s really not polite; I thought he knew better! Always trying to get where he shouldn’t.”

Yuuri frowned. _That_ stung a little.

“I know! Don’t worry, though,” Viktor was saying. “He doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve got everything locked up tight.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Viktor was talking about: everyone knew Viktor was the gold medal favorite, and Yuuri really _didn’t_ stand a chance against him.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ve got it under control. I’ll see you soon with a new medal.”

But Yuuri had never thought Viktor was the kind to rub it _in_.

Yuuri had half of his costume on when Viktor got off the phone. “Good morning, darling!” Viktor said with a bright smile. “I can’t wait to compete against you today – I’ll see you out on the ice!”

With that, Viktor was out of the locker room door, leaving Yuuri alone to let reality sink in. He should have expected this; he should have _known_ it was too good to be true to just…find his idol’s poodle, and somehow have Viktor _like_ him? (And _kiss him_?) No. It wasn’t realistic.

Yuuri had always known that anything between them could have only been in a fairytale, anyway.

[Tadaima]

Yuuri was restless as he waited for their six-minute warmup to begin. He bounced back and forth between his feet, purposely trying to stay as far away from Viktor as possible. Viktor’s coach was, unknowingly, helping Yuuri’s cause: he apparently had an abundance of last-minute advice for Viktor, so he was prevented from trying to talk to Yuuri.

He caught Yuuri’s eyes once as they skated past each other on the ice, Viktor giving him a nod and a smile as Yuuri successfully completed a jump.

_How dare he_? Yuuri thought. _Do you think you can just insult me, and I’ll be charmed by your smile enough to let you get away with it?_

No.

He would show Viktor that he was wrong; he would show Viktor that he could _do this_ and that Yuuri _did_ stand a chance against him for the gold. Even if he couldn’t actually _win_ the gold with his abysmal short program score, Yuuri was determined to show Viktor that he wasn’t just some…some fan. Some pauper. Someone that was unworthy of Viktor’s time.

He was worthy: he just didn’t want it anymore.

The warmup finished, and Yuuri was left waiting for the first skater to complete his program. Since he would be going second, it gave him four minutes to try to translate those words that he knew in English and Japanese to a language they both spoke perfectly: skating.

And then time was up, the audience was clapping, and Yuuri was being ushered out for a short warmup. He looped around the ice, marking a few jumps as he waited for the other skater’s scores to be announced. Then, nodding to Celestino, he allowed himself to freeze into his starting position.

Yuuri felt as if an arena had never been quieter as he waited for his music to start, and he felt calmer than he ever had at the beginning of a program.

The first note thrummed through the arena and brought Yuuri to life. He attacked his program with a fury he didn’t know he was capable of. That fury wasn’t the _only_ thing he didn’t know he could do: he had also made a very, _very_ last minute decision to swap out his triple lutz for another quad toeloop and his triple loop for his quad salchow (which was risky for multiple reasons, the least of which was that he hadn’t even attempted the jump at practice in Russia). His triple axel-triple toeloop combination also got pushed to the second half of the program, eager for every last point he could gather.

Yuuri was pretty sure that Celestino was having a heart attack by now, and there were two possible causes. Case 1: Celestino was pleasantly shocked and impressed with Yuuri’s _two_ quad toeloops, not to mention the salchow, and Yuuri would probably be getting…oh, maybe a new sportscar or a puppy as a reward for his exemplary jumps. Case 2: More than likely, Celestino was tearing his hair out at Yuuri’s unpredictable layout, and Yuuri would be scolded the second he got off the ice.

This layout was something Yuuri had tried once in practice – _once_. He had asked Celestino if they could see what would happen with extra quads, and see they did: Yuuri had fallen on the second quad toe, and the quad sal was popped into a double.

Not today, though: Yuuri’s quad salchow had been landed, albeit with a bit of a wobble. His quad toes had been strong, and Yuuri held it together until the last notes of the program-

-but not a second more. Chest heaving, he fell to his knees and watched as stuffed animals and flowers rained onto the ice.

He had done it. Somehow, he had done _that_ , and now he needed to face the music – or rather, Celestino.

Finally catching his breath, Yuuri pushed himself to his feet again, waving to all four sides of the stadium before skating towards the exit. He picked up a large stuffed bear from the ice, squeezing it close to his chest and trying very hard not to think about how much the soft toy felt like Makkachin’s silky curls. He could see Celestino waiting as he glided to the exit, holding Yuuri’s jacket and skate guards with an unreadable expression.

Yuuri stepped off the ice just as Celestino’s face broke into an enormous, if completely astonished, grin. “Yuuri! Yuuri, that was _incredible_!” He gave Yuuri a firm pat on the back, then passed him his skate guards and helped him into his team jacket. “We can talk about whether doing that was a bit too impulsive later – it worked out in your favor today, though!”

Yuuri nodded breathlessly, dabbing the sweat dripping down his temple with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Let’s go see what the judges think,” Celestino told him, guiding him over to the Kiss and Cry to await the scores.

It felt like it took forever; it probably wasn’t any longer than usual but knowing that Yuuri was waiting on scores from _three quads_ put just a little more pressure on his already-weakened nerves.

Then, finally, the arena was filled with the echoing voice of the announcer. “The scores please.” Yuuri waited, not daring to breathe as he ducked his face into the bear he was still holding, fingers clenching and unclenching around its fur. “The scores for Yuuri Katsuki from Japan: Yuuri has earned 192.86 points in the free program for a total score of 269.47, a new season’s best. He is currently in first place.”

Yuuri dropped the bear, the toy rolling to the ground until it settled under his seat.

_192.86._

He had somehow added more than _ten points_ to his best free skate score. No, not somehow: he had added _two additional quads_ to the program to earn those ten points.

And he was currently in first.

“Yes! Great job, Yuuri!” Celestino cheered, jumping from his seat and pulling Yuuri into an overzealous hug.

His results held their position until the final skater, with Viktor knocking his score down one place by just over 30 points. Still, he had medaled – and a silver medal at that, next to the World Champion and god of the ice himself.

And, to top it all off, he’d qualified for the Final.

Yuuri barely managed to get through the medal ceremony without biting Viktor’s head off. Despite Viktor’s brilliance on the ice, his skills in apologizing – or maybe understanding a competitor’s body language – were sorely lacking. He kept trying to talk to Yuuri like he hadn’t said anything wrong. Was this what Viktor _did_? Was he so famous that he could just…walk all over people, and they’d let him? Maybe even tell him _thank you_?

Yuuri kept his distance at the exhibition performance, staying close to Celestino and Yuri, who had been invited to perform as a representative of the host country. He had to make polite conversation with Viktor once or twice, but he survived.

He just needed to hold on long enough to get home, and then he could breathe easily.

[Tadaima]

Back in Detroit, the days felt like a whirlwind of training. With just over a week to prepare for the Grand Prix Final, Celestino had forced Yuuri to have a long talk about his Rostelecom Cup free program. Celestino’s questions were all met with brief answers: Why did he change the layout? (Because he got mad.) Why did he get mad? (He didn’t want to say.) Could you do it again? (Probably.)

The days leading up to the Final were then spent performing a multitude of run-though, trying to boost Yuuri’s stamina (not that it needed much help) and ingrain the new jump layout into his muscle memory. Yuuri didn’t have much time for anything else, even to explain to Phichit what had happened with Viktor in Russia. (Even with the abbreviated version, Phichit was still plotting war against one Viktor Nikiforov by the end of the story.)

Yuri, true to his word, did _not_ like people who didn’t text him. The second day Yuuri had been back in Detroit, he got a message simply saying: **_The fuck, Katsuki? Don’t you text people?_**

And so they began to exchange messages every day, although they weren’t very long due to the time difference and both of their rigorous training schedules. Yuri frequently sent photos of Potya (Yuuri was initially surprised that Yuri was a cat person, but then decided that it definitely fit), and Yuuri would offer secondhand photos of Vicchan (Mari was kind enough to keep him satisfied with a steady stream of poodle pictures).

The texts from Viktor, on the other hand, were patently ignored – and they were numerous. There were at least five messages a day, plus an additional few attempts to call him – all of which were left unanswered. For whatever reason, it seemed that Viktor had trouble with simple social math: Be rude to someone + Don’t apologize = Be ignored.

Yuuri knew that there was only so long he could ignore Viktor, though. In less than a week, he would be in Sochi for the Final. He’d be taking the ice with Viktor again, and there would only be four other skaters to act as a buffer. He couldn’t avoid him forever.

[Tadaima]

Back in Russia, Viktor was becoming increasingly worried as his messages to Yuuri continued to be ignored. (Even the Makkachin pictures!)

“Yurio?” Viktor said as he and the younger skater took a break during training.

“That’s not my name,” Yuri grumbled, feeling _very_ tempted to unscrew his water bottle and dump its contents all over Viktor’s stupid silver hair.

“Yura?” Viktor whined instead. “ _Yuuura_?”

Slamming his capped, still partly full water bottle down onto the boards, Yuri growled, “ _What_ , old man?”

Yuri had been hoping that the whining would ease up, but it didn’t. If anything, it only grew more pathetic. “Yura, why won’t my darling Yuuri _talk_ to me?”

“He’s probably tired of your boring whining and your balding head,” Yuri grumbled, pulling out his phone to Google other possible uses for a plastic water bottle.

“Yuuura.” Yuri didn’t look up, considering whether just _throwing_ the thing would be the simplest option. “Yuuuuuuuuura!”

Yuri’s phone buzzed right on cue. Distractedly, he opened a message from Yuuri – oh, look, another photo of the mini-Makka. “Ugh, _what_ , old man?” he said as he typed a reply.

“Yura, will you talk to my Yuuri for me? Can you figure out what I did wrong?”

Yuri grumbled, spitting out words like “boring old man” and “can’t even sort out his own relationships,” but eventually, he relented. “Fine. _Fine_. But I’m expecting something _really_ nice for Christmas, alright?”

“Oh, Yura, _thank you_! You can be my best man when my darling Yuuri and I get married!”

Yuri scoffed. “As if. I’ll be standing on Yuuri’s side, old man.” He sent his message to Yuuri, then followed it up with a brief text saying, **_Talk to the old man. He’s whining. It’s getting annoying_** , before he pushed away from the boards to get as far away from Viktor as quickly as possible.

Ugh, _dating_ and _feelings_. Disgusting.

[Tadaima]

It seemed silly to Yuuri that he had flown halfway across the globe for a competition, only to go home and fly halfway across the world again to the _same country_ a week and a half later. He found himself back in Russia, albeit in Sochi this time, a bit further from his home than Saint Petersburg had been.

Despite the strenuous competition schedule, Yuuri made sure to keep a block of time clear so that he could attend the junior’s free program – he couldn’t miss Yuri’s win, after all.

And what a win it was. Despite not having a single quad ( _Of course I have them! Stupid Yakov just won’t let me_ use _them_ , Yuri was sure to tell him when Yuuri offered his congratulations), Yuri won by more than 15 points. He was quick to brush off the press after the medal ceremony and even managed to get Yakov to let him go adventuring with Yuuri (not that Yuuri had any say in it).

Their time galivanting in Sochi wasn’t very long, but Yuri made sure to take Yuuri for a hearty lunch. They both gazed wistfully at an outdoor ice rink, but it would be silly to go skating there in the middle of the day for many reasons: first, _one_ elite skater was enough to attract attention, let alone _two_ ; second, the risks of getting hurt if they tried to do anything more than skate circles was very high with the dense crowd of newbie skaters; and third, Yuuri couldn’t allow himself to tire too early since he had practice in a few hours.

At one point in their adventure, Yuuri had expressed his disappointment that the holiday market in Saint Petersburg hadn’t been fully set up yet, so Yuri took it upon himself to find the nearest market to explore. Delighted, Yuuri dragged his younger friend all around the market, picking up souvenirs for Phichit, his family, and Celestino. Just as they were about to leave, Yuuri was drawn to a vendor who was selling metal ornaments, and without any discernable reason why, he decided to purchase a pair of ornaments, each one holding a set of ice skates suspended in a golden ring.

[Tadaima]

They made it back to the host hotel with enough time for Yuuri to stash his gifts and make it to practice. Celestino frowned as he was practically running into the rink, but he didn’t say a word.

Practice was awkward, to say the least. Viktor kept trying to talk to Yuuri as if he hadn’t _insulted_ him and said horrible things to his face. Sure, Viktor was…well, Viktor was a _god_ in skating, but that didn’t mean Yuuri was going to let him get away with this kind of behavior.

Yuuri tried to remain respectful on the ice towards Viktor, but it was difficult with Viktor skating near him every two minutes to try to catch his eye. 

On a positive note, just like at the Rostelecom Cup, Yuri attended Yuuri’s practice, sitting as close to the boards as possible and gesturing wildly any time Yuuri performed an element (most of his angry arm waving seemed to be in response to poor jump attempts, but Yuri did seem to cheer when Yuuri landed a particularly smooth triple axel).

Or maybe it wasn’t so positive, after all: Yuri caught up to Yuuri as soon as the men’s practice concluded, forcibly dragging him away from Celestino into a secluded corner.

“You haven’t talked to him yet,” Yurio demanded.

“No,” Yuuri said timidly, musing how utterly insane it was to be cowed by a small teenager.

“He’s being fucking _miserable_ , Katsuki! The _moping_! The _whining_! The ‘Yuri, why doesn’t my darling Yuuri _like_ me anymore?’ except it’s _worse_ because he calls me fucking _Yurio_ like I’m _five_!” Yuri growled in frustration. “I have to _room_ with this man for another _three days_!” Yuuri was speechless, but Yuri didn’t seem to care to wait for an answer. “ _Deal with it!_ ” he ordered, jabbing a finger right in the middle of Yuuri’s chest before stomping away into the crowd of people that was slowly filling the hall.

[Tadaima]

Yuuri was a brave, strong, confident adult.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he rode the elevator up three floors to the room number that Yuri had oh-so-politely texted him (the full message read **_Room 643 OR ELSE!!!!!_** and Yuuri _really_ didn’t want to find out what the “else” part entailed).

He really thought he was fine – he thought he could handle a simple conversation with Viktor (even if the “talking” part was supposed to be simple and the “content” part might be anything _but_ ), but when the door opened to reveal Viktor’s tired eyes, disheveled hair, and rumpled sweatpants, all of the fight went out of him.

(And the fact that Viktor was shirtless certainly didn’t help.)

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, his voice holding a mixture of relief and, oddly, reverence.

Yuuri couldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the dark green hotel carpeting. “Yuri practically begged me to talk to you,” he mumbled. “Can I come in?”

“Yes! Of course!” Viktor responded eagerly, immediately pressing himself flush against the wall of the entryway, leaving room for Yuuri to pass by his body. Yuuri carefully stepped inside, but with the small quarters of the hotel room, he wasn’t able to keep his hand from brushing against Viktor’s leg as he entered.

Yuuri hadn’t planned on getting this far, he realized as he sat on the brown hotel couch. He should have considered how he would start their conversation, but he had been too worried about getting up enough nerve to _see_ Viktor when he was feeling so angry and humiliated that he had let the more important thoughts fade away.

Luckily, Viktor was willing to start the conversation for him. He had thrown on a thin white V-neck, and while it certainly helped to lessen Yuuri’s possible distractedness, it didn’t eliminate it totally.

Viktor was sitting on the other half of the couch, his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. He didn’t meet Yuuri’s gaze as he asked, “What happened in Saint Petersburg? I thought things were fine – I thought _we_ were fine, however briefly we _were_ a ‘we.’”

_What happened?_ Yuuri wanted to scoff. _You have the nerve to ask me what happened?_ But Yuuri wasn’t the confrontational type, and those words would never leave his mouth.

“Yuuri?” Viktor said tentatively.

With a sigh, Yuuri decided that the only way to get through this was to dive in headfirst. “I heard what you said about me.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“In the locker room. I heard what you said about me on the phone the day of the Rostelecom short program.”

Yuuri expected to see some sort of recognition or guilt or embarrassment in Viktor’s face – something that said Viktor realized he had been overheard and that Yuuri wasn’t _stupid_ – but instead, all he saw was more confusion.

“Yuuri? I don’t remember talking about you to anyone on the phone, especially not then.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. “You…you said that I was nosy and always getting into places I shouldn’t, and that you had the gold medal locked up tight.”

Viktor looked stricken. “Oh, Yuuri…Yuuri, _no_. That’s not what happened at all!”

Yuuri frowned in frustration. “Viktor, I _heard_ you say it!”

“Yes, Yuuri. I said those things, but not quite like that, and certainly not about _you_. I said them about _Makkachin_. He was trying to nose his way into the _cleaning supplies_ again, and they’re poisonous. I locked the _cabinet_ with babyproof locks, and my comment about winning gold? It wasn’t about you.” Viktor paused, looking vaguely sad. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just…it’s expected of me,” he said, his words sounding stilted and hollow.

“I…that…” Thinking back, Yuuri realized that he _hadn’t_ heard his name associated with any of those horrible phrases. It had just been “he,” and there were a lot of different people that could be – including a badly-behaved poodle. “…oh.”

Viktor watched Yuuri’s face closely, witnessing the range of emotions as Yuuri processed his explanation. He wanted so desperately for Yuuri to understand because he wanted – no, _needed_ – for things to get better between them.

He didn’t know what he would do if they didn’t.

“Oh,” Yuuri said again. “I…Viktor, I’m so _stupid_.”

Viktor’s gaze softened. “You could never be stupid, Yuuri. It was an honest mistake.”

Yuuri scoffed. “Yeah, a _stupid_ one! Who else would ever think you were talking about _them_ instead of a _dog_?”

“Given what you heard, though…I suppose it was reasonable,” Viktor told him. “The only thing is…” Viktor was hesitant to continue. He looked at Yuuri nervously, deciding if he really wanted to know the answer to his question.

“What, Viktor?” Yuuri asked gently.

“Why… _why_ would you ever think I would say something like that?”

The hurt in Viktor’s voice made Yuuri want to wrap him up and never let him go. He needed Viktor to know that it wasn’t _him_ ; it was _Yuuri_ and all his anxieties. “I…I didn’t feel worthy of you to begin with. I mean, you’re _you_ , and I’m just some nobody from Japan-”

“Yuuri-”

“No, Viktor; you asked, and it’s true, even if you don’t see it the way everyone else does. Why would you want to be with someone like me, especially when I just found your _poodle_? The only reason I could see was…well…for a laugh or to psyche out the competition, but the second one didn’t make sense since you’re a _much_ better skater than me even on my best days.”

“Oh, _Yuuri_ …” Viktor crooned.

Someone scoffed. “Geez, what kind of idiot _are_ you?” a disgusted voice piped up. Neither Viktor nor Yuuri had noticed the door open during their discussion (and it wasn’t like Yuri was trying to be quiet about it, either). “‘Some nobody from Japan?’” Yuri quoted. “What the actual _fuck_ , Katsuki?”

Yuuri was too stunned to provide a coherent answer, so he settled for gaping like a fish. “I don’t look up to you because you’re _taller than me_ , you idiot!” Yuri grumbled.

“Yuri, can you please go back downstairs? Or maybe go sit with Yakov for a while?” Viktor asked quietly.

“What? No! And miss all the fun? Why should I?” Yuri protested stubbornly.

“Yuri, _please_. It was your idea, anyway,” Yuuri tried to reason with him. “I think we just need to talk.” When Yuri still didn’t budge, Yuuri crossed his arms and frowned. “ _Alone_.”

Yuri sighed. “Fine, _fine_ ,” he grumbled, “but you two had better be done with all this…this… _pining_ after each other by the end of this!” Yuri grabbed a sweatshirt, stomping out of the hotel room and letting the door slam shut behind him.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of – it wasn’t quite relief, but it was something close. He was having enough trouble talking with Viktor alone; having an audience would have made it impossible.

“Yuuri?” Viktor prompted him, drawing him back out of his thoughts and reminding him that their conversation was _far_ from over. “Yuuri, have I _ever_ lied to you?”

“…no,” Yuuri admitted.

“Then why would I lie about what happened?” Yuuri didn’t have an answer to that. “Yuuri, why would you _believe_ something like that?” And _oh_ \- Viktor sounded so heartbroken, so gutted at the idea that Yuuri could believe Viktor thought he was _worthless…_

“Viktor, I’m sorry. It just…it was the only thing that made sense, okay? Why would you want to be with me? Why would you ever…”

“I love you.”

And if there were ever to be words spoken in the history of the universe that were capable of freezing a human being, it would be _those_. They weren’t even magic words: no _abra cadabra_ or _accio_ or _petrificus totalus_. Magic wasn’t real, but _this_ …somehow, Viktor had managed to stop Yuuri’s body and his mind in their tracks.

“What?” he breathed.

“Yuuri, I love you.”

“But- but you- and you’re- and we- we hardly know each other, Viktor!”

Viktor shook his head. “I know you enough to know that _I love you_ , Yuuri Katsuki. I know that you make me smile like nobody else does and that, for the first time in years, I feel _alive_ again. I’m not just…just pushing myself to skate, trying to chase after some fleeting moment of reality. I’m really _living_ now, and it’s all thanks to you. You…you feel like home, Yuuri, and if that’s not love…”

Yuuri’s anxiety quelled, calming like a roiling ocean at the tail end of a storm. All that was left was still waters and a heavy feeling of warmth. “Viktor…”

“You don’t…Yuuri, I don’t need you to say anything back or tell me you love me, too, but just _please_ -”

And saying _I love you_ would have probably been too soon for Yuuri – too big of a step too quickly, and the words would have come out hollow and feeling like a mockery. But there were words, perhaps even more important ones, that Yuuri felt with his whole heart and could truthfully say.

“Tadaima, Viktor,” he murmured, watching as recognition slowly dawned in Viktor’s eyes. “I’m home. _You’re_ my home. I spent years living away from Japan, and I’m not going to leave my home when I just found it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Viktor’s face crumbled, tears pooling as he pulled Yuuri into his arms. He held on tight, arms wrapped around Yuuri’s back as if holding onto him were the only thing tethering him to the universe. Viktor tucked his face tightly into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, his body shaking against Yuuri’s.

Yuuri put one hand on the back of Viktor’s head, carding his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Viktor…Viktor, what is it?”

“You made me cry, Yuuri!” His words were muffled by Yuuri’s shoulder, but even through Viktor’s tears, they were still clear as day. “You made me cry, and crying isn't good for the skin. Think of my _skin,_ Yuuri! My beautiful complexion! Be a little more considerate.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure _what_ was going on for a minute, but then Viktor pulled back and there was a beautiful grin on his tear-streaked face. “I’ll try my best,” Yuuri promised, smiling in return. “I never want to see you cry, Viktor,” he said more seriously. “If I have to see you cry, they had better be happy tears.”

“Oh, these are, my darling.” Viktor pressed a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “These certainly are.”

Viktor tugged Yuuri closer, lifting him up until he was sitting sideways across Viktor’s lap. It felt so safe to be able to sit like this, Yuuri’s head tucked beneath Viktor’s strong chin, arms enveloping one another in a web of warmth. The sensation shouldn’t have felt like it was drawing on a distant memory, something Yuuri held precious to his heart – but it did.

It was a wonderful feeling of contentment, which seemed to melt away all Yuuri’s anxieties about the Final. It carried him through the night, ensuring a restful sleep back in his own hotel room, and was renewed the following morning when his phone on the dresser _ding_ ed with a message:

**_Good morning, my darling Yuuri. I can’t wait to see you today! <3_ **

[Tadaima]

The environment at the Grand Prix Final was nothing like that of the Rostelecom Cup. For one, Yuuri was only competing against five other skaters, and they were all of an incredibly high caliber. Yuuri would be lucky to even podium again, let alone not come dead last.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, Yuuri and Viktor were…well… _Yuuri and Viktor_. They hadn’t been talking half the time they were competing together before because of a stupid misunderstanding (and Viktor _still_ thought he wasn’t stupid, but well…Yuuri had screwed up big time, so maybe he was a little bit). The need to prove himself to Viktor Nikiforov had fueled Yuuri to a silver medal and his qualification at the Final, and now, Yuuri just felt…light. He felt warm and cherished, which was very different from feeling angry and rejected.

He felt like a stranger before. Now, he was home.

He was with Viktor.

Maybe it was the feeling of being home again or the infectious energy of the audience – whatever it was, Yuuri skated his heart out, landing all his jumps in the short program and matching his technical difficulty in the free program from two weeks earlier; he even surpassed his component scores. His total score boosted him to the top of the rankings and held there until Viktor skated last. It was enough to earn him another silver medal and the honor of standing next to Viktor on the podium once more.

The photographer called Yuuri and Chris up to the center podium to take photos of the winners closer together. After a few dozen photos had been taken in various poses, some with their bouquets held aloft and others with their medals clutched tightly in their hands, the medalists were told to take a victory lap.

Before they could move apart, though, Viktor paused, looking thoughtful before draping the silken ribbon of his medal around Yuuri’s neck. “Beautiful!” he declared, grinning brightly. “You know what? I’ll make you a deal, my Yuuri. You win gold, and I’ll marry you.”

It was a very good thing Viktor had one arm looped around Yuuri’s waist, or he would have fallen off the top tier of the pedestal.

_Marry you._

“I hope you get that gold at Worlds,” Viktor murmured in his ear, “because I don’t want to wait. And Four Continents doesn’t count since we won’t be competing against each other.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri said, his name hardly louder than a breath. Chris wouldn’t hear it, and the photographers certainly wouldn’t.

“Marry me, Yuuri. Don’t make me wait.”

And then Yuuri could feel Viktor’s fingers, warm through the mesh of his costume against the curve of his waist. It sent chills up his spine, and Yuuri couldn’t help letting out a heavy breath.

“Yes,” he breathed. Then, “Yes,” louder and more clearly, causing Chris to turn to him and cock his head to the side in question.

“Don’t mind us, Chris,” Viktor said with a delighted grin. “My Yuuri just agreed to marry me – that’s all.”

And then the flash of a camera went off, successfully capturing what might be the most interesting podium photo of all time: Chris, mouth gaping as he looked between his fellow medalists; Viktor, grinning like he had just won the Olympics – but no, he hadn’t even grinned like that when he _had_ won the Olympics; and Yuuri, blushing while looking adoringly at Viktor. The public was given no context for the variety of expressions, and none of the skaters were offering any.

As soon as they were back at the hotel, Yuuri presented Viktor with one of his golden ice skate ornaments, which Viktor accepted with a delighted squeal and a hug that toppled Yuuri to the ground. They celebrated at the banquet that night, both dressed in their finest suits (and Yuuri sincerely hoped Viktor would be wearing _that_ suit when they got married since his eyes continued to be drawn to his rather delectable posterior). Their celebration was not for making up with each other or their medals or their podium proposal. No; instead, Viktor and Yuuri celebrated simply being with each other. They didn’t need wedding rings or a ceremony to make it official.

They were already home.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! <3


	2. Viktor's Phone Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's full phone conversation (aka Makkachin is a troublemaker).

“Oh, it’s just Katsuki.”

[Katsuki? Yuuri Katsuki?]

“Yeah, Yuuri. That one.”

[Ah. So anyhow, Makka’s been trying to get into the cabinets again.]

“Mm-hmm. I know. He’s so nosy, doesn’t know how to keep himself reigned in. It’s really not polite; I thought he knew better! Always trying to get where he shouldn’t.”

[Exactly. I worry that he’ll get into the cleaning cabinet, though. I don’t want him getting sick.]

“I know! Don’t worry, though. He doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve got everything locked up tight.”

[So Makka’s fine if I don’t move anything?]

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ve got it under control. I’ll see you at home with gold.”


End file.
